Dragon!
by Happiness and Hamsters
Summary: "Everyone else had normal names, but no, I was the Dragon, and dragons must bow to the humans." The life of a certain young blonde Malfoy who from the moment he began, knew life was tough and out to get him.
1. Chapter 1: My Humble Beginnings

My birthday today. My third birthday; and I am in the Shame Corner.

I know perfectly well why. I'm the last nameless one. They pick a name whenever they see fit. And mine hasn't come; yet.

I awoke this morning and a horrid tingly feeling built up in my nose until I sneezed. And to my horror sparks flew out of my nostrils. Only a few the first time, but more and more as I went into the seventh sneeze.

And on the eighth, a spark caught on a tissue which burst into flame. I wriggled into the opposite corner to the flaming tissue when the door opened.

A wand was revealed and a small spurt of water doused the flame. The woman screamed "Dragon! Dragon!" I cried out, "I'm not a dragon, I'm the last Nameless One!" The woman was halfway through the word 'dragon' again before she thought for a while.

"Dragon; sounds like a good name, but not in English. That sounds silly. Let's see, in French and Spanish it's the same; Italian it's drago or dragone; and in Latin it's draco. Well, which do you prefer, Drago or Draco?" she asked coldly. "D-Drago, my lady." I replied respectfully.

"Right, that settles it. Your new name is Draco," she said haughtily and then grabbed me by the collar and put me in the Shame Corner.

Apparently setting fire to a tissue isn't good and nether's 'answering back'. But everyone has beginnings, and these were mine. As the year progressed, I realised being the Draco of the group meant I was walked over and pushed about endlessly.

Everyone else had normal names, but no, I was the Dragon, and dragons must bow to the humans. I heard it from the boys there that the Dragon will be thrown out on his fifth birthday. Why I do not know. I shall have to wait.

* * *

It is the hour before my fifth birthday. I will be thrown out when the sun has reached his highest phase.

My mother came to collect me at nine and we will leave at twelve. I have packed the items I own and my clothes, my room is bare of any sign I'd ever been here. My wardrobe is empty with the exception of the box that was already there; the box I had been told not to open. There's something I've been wanting to do for months; I've been attracted to doing it since I knew I'd be leaving.

I find a scrap of paper, quietly write my name and age and open the box. To my surprise, I see row upon row of little pieces of paper with children's names and ages on them.

There is a note attatched to the lid, peeling and slightly faded which reads, "Please add your name and age on a piece of paper to this box." So I do. I quietly walk downstairs and hand my mother my suitcase. She nods curtly and I slip into the car. I sit inside, looking out at the miserable place I need never see again. We drive away. She says nothing to me. And I say nothing to her.

The silence is an uncomfortable one; and to break it I clear my throat. My mother calls back blandly, "Draco, how would you feel about going to Diagon Alley?"

I stop. I stutter, "W-What? I can go to Diagon Alley?" It was always a privilege I was denied.

My mother coolly replies, "Yes, you're a wizard, Draco. That's why you sneezed sparks. Audrey waited intentionally until your magic showed to give you your name. It's a tradition in the Malfoy family.

"Your father's Lucius, also Latin because when his magic showed itself; he shone a bright white, like he had turned into a beacon for an hour. and I, Narcissa; my name appeared because when I showed magic, ten daffodils sprouted. That's all there is to it. Uncle Rodolphus will teach you Quidditch; Lucius will be very disappointed if you don't make the team when you are in your second year..."

I nod. This will be a confusing couple of weeks...


	2. Chapter 2: The Boy in Madam Malkins

It is my tenth birthday and I'm eating breakfast when an owl flies through the window.

I ignore it as many owls have flown through the window before but this one drops something next to me with my name on it. Curious, I open it and inside it tells me that I've gained a place at Hogwarts.

I call my mother excitedly, and she nods, rereads the letter and picks out a piece of paper detailing all I will need.

"We'll need to go to Diagon Alley. Draco, did your father ever tell you; you have a vault in Gringotts?" I nod; knowing almost to the Knut how much is inside. "I've never been, do you mean for me to come with you?" I ask quietly.

"Yes, Draco, of course," she replies nonchalantly. "You'll need a wand. How on earth could I get you your wand without you? _The wand chooses the wizard,_ Draco."

I nod quietly. "Apparently I need some books, Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1; A History of Magic; Magical Theory; A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration; One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi; Magical Drafts and Potions; Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them; The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. I have a few of those-" I was stopped by a wave of my mother's arm.

"No, no, no. We will buy you a new set of everything. And an extra set of what you don't already have for revision and study at home. It won't cost too much. Anything else?" She waved her hand to continue.

I clear my throat. "A bit of uniform, three sets of black work robes; one plain black pointed hat; protective gloves, of dragon hide of something similar; and a cloak, black with silver fastenings. And then a cauldron, pewter, standard size two; one set of glass or crystal phials; one telescope and one set of brass scales. I'd assume I need some basic potion ingredients too. And an owl or a cat or a toad."

She nods and says, "Good. I'd say all this will come to around 100 Galleons. I'll get my purse." As I think, stirring my spoon in my tea absentmindedly, she returns, dressed in Muggle clothes.

My mother tells me, "Draco, go change into jeans and a t-shirt," I try not to stare; I have never seen my mother in Muggle clothing. I do as she says, tucking my hands into my pockets like Muggles of my age.

I hate that habit of theirs. Anyway, I tuck my hands into the pockets, wincing as the pockets are far too small for my hands. I slouch and my mother nods approvingly. "Excellent, you'll pass as a Muggle child. You're far better than I ever was. Let's go," she adds, "Your father's already there."

We bundle into the car, which my mother knows how to use better than some Muggles.

* * *

Inside Diagon Alley; and dear lord there's an awful amount of things here, so many I can't focus on all of them. My mother speaks to me; telling me that she's going to compare wandmakers for my wand, the wandmaker she got her wand from having relocated to America and then dying of old age a month ago. She harries me into _Madame Malkins_; and the woman there inquires as to whether I'm at Hogwarts or I need formal robes.

My mother tells all and then I am on a stool, and long black robes have been slipped over my head. They're very comfortable, despite their supposed heaviness and then I feel her rolling up the sleeves and pinning them to the correct length. As she begins on the robe bottoms, a messily haired boy with glasses enters.

I know I'm not supposed to be friendly to other boys but I don't want to be a loner in Hogwarts so I try my hardest. "Hullo there. Hogwarts too?" I ask, in what I hope is a friendly tone.

"Yes." He replies quietly.

I then say, "My father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street looking at wands."I am not very good at conversing and I think I'm boring the boy.

"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at brooms," I say, and suddenly a snobbish statement spills out, "I don't see why first-years can't have their own brooms. I think I'll bully father into buying me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

I realise that sounded very rude and mean, and I hope I haven't made an awful impression. So I change the subject to Quidditch.

"Do you have a broom?" I ask him, hoping the answer's a yes. "No," came the reply.

"Play Quidditch at all?" I ask somewhat desperately. "No," the answer was repeated.

I assume he knows about Quidditch, so I say, "I do, Father reckons it's a crime if I don't get picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be?"

His third answer was the same as his first two. I carry on regardless. "Well, no-one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine if you were in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

The boy replied, "Mmm." Suddenly I spot a massive man standing outside the window waving at the boy and trying to get his attention. "I say, look at that man!" I say, nodding towards the window, surprised.

"That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts." the boy said somewhat smugly.

"Oh," I falter. "I've heard of him. He's a sort of a servant, isn't he?" I attempt to regain comfortable conversation, not that we had it anyway.

"He's the gamekeeper." The boy said, staring at me coldly. "Yes, exactly. I've heard he's a sort of _savage_ – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and sets fire to his bed."

The boy states simply, "I think he's brilliant."

I say, somewhat sarcastically, _"Do you?_ Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" I ask, trying to be politely interested.

"They're dead." The boy replies quietly. "Oh, sorry." I say, and cold rushes down my arms at the thought.

"But they were our kind, weren't they?" I ask, tentatively.

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean." The boy replied sharply. I then go on with another of my father's beliefs, believing this pure-blood will be interested.

"I just don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same; they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts before getting their letter, imagine. I think they should keep it to the old wizarding families. What's your surname?"

Before the boy answers, the woman tells him he's done and he steps down and then quickly exits the shop.


	3. Chapter 3: In Which I Realize My Mistake

It's typical I get the trainee.

After I can no longer see the boy, the woman behind the counter whispers, "Doris! Know who that was? That was Hagrid… with the boy Harry. Harry Potter! The Harry Potter!"

The woman who measured him gasped. "He was skinny as a blade of grass, poor fellow! In possibly the smallest size I've ever fitted a male Hogwarts student in…"

I'm no longer listening. I'm embarrassed, I wanted to run and apologise immediately. My father would have been so proud to have his son close friends with Harry Potter. Then again, he might not. He's always so unpredictable and difficult.

He might go off the hinges. I've felt the cold, hard floor of the dungeons below Malfoy Manor many times before... Maybe it was a good thing we didn't hit it off. However, the lady has finished doing my robes and I'm handed three gold Galleons.

"Go buy yourself a nice ice-cream. You look as underfed as that Harry Potter." I bow meekly and thank them. I pay for the robes and Doris smiled at me comfortably. If only I had a witch like these for my mother, or a proper loving wizard father.

Still, there's no point in wishing for what I don't have. I love my mother very much, but she had the misfortune to marry my father… Still, if she hadn't, I wouldn't be thinking this, because I wouldn't exist…

I indeed do go directly to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour and enjoy a large chocolate ice-cream with chopped nuts. Strangely, the ice-cream parlour is abuzz with Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that. He's so young, he can't help it…

Still, he'll be smoking Gillyweed before he's 15. I shudder at the thought. He's sweet, as much as I could gather. My mother runs over and pulls me off, talking to me. Again, I'm not listening. But then again, do I ever?


End file.
